


anywhere dark will do

by dissembler



Category: Lilywhite Boys Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Historical Gay Subcultures & Meeting Places, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dissembler/pseuds/dissembler
Summary: A night at the Empire.
Relationships: Jerry Crozier/Alexander "Alec" Pyne-ffoulkes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	anywhere dark will do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Blue Escapist (TheBlueEscapist)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueEscapist/gifts).



  
"I say, Lord Alexander," comes a clear, well-toned voice at his ear. "You’re here so bloody often you’ll be taken for a tart." Jerry slides into the space before him, eclipsing the gas lighting that makes the promenade bright and welcoming, blocking from Alec’s view the crowd of people eager to see the Lumière’s magic. "What _would_ Mrs Chant think?"

Alec swallows and shields with his body from view the encroaching hand that slides inside his jacket and up to curl possessively around his ribs, below his heart. "I think," he says, "Mr Brant, that I am the last of Mrs Chant’s worries.’

"You think that, do you?"

Jerry’s eyes are dark, pupils blown, and he keeps his hand, warm and strong and heavy with promise through the thin shirt, on Alec’s side until the bell invites them to return to their seats. Then, shamelessly, he lowers his hand, brushes it against Alec’s crotch as he goes – calculated innocence in his face – and Alec has to bite his lip against the noise he wants to make. 

Alec – Lord Alexander – finds himself quickly being swept back to their box, Jerry navigating the crowd for him and making sure he doesn’t knock into Mr and Mrs Such-and-such as they retake their seats. He feels heat rise in his face at the thought of being so dazed he can’t even walk by himself, of needing to be led. 

A light press on his shoulder from Jerry and Alec sits down. He can hear Jerry shut the door behind them and then the quiet scrape of his dragging a chair underneath the handle, but Alec's attention by now is caught by the curtain as it rises and the loud click of the _cinématographe_ as it starts up. 

Jerry sits down, pressed from shoulder to knee against Alec. "I wonder," he whispers in a tone that could be idle interest if Alec didn’t know him so well, "if you can remain so rapt while I frig you to ecstasy, Lord Alexander." And with no more warning he hooks his foot around Alec’s ankle and pulls to open his legs. Alec doesn’t resist but he does try to keep his eyes straight ahead, watching the canvas screen while Jerry puts those practised fingers of his to Alec’s fly. 

Normally, when Jerry’s hand closes around his prick, Alec’s response is to close his eyes and to sink, half-boneless already, against whatever surface is nearest. But now that would lose him a challenge and, though he knows that Jerry only plays games he can win, he keeps his eyes open; tries to last as long as he can. 

The _click click click_ is joined by a rustle and slide, loud to him but – he hopes – unnoticeable to others and Alec breathes slowly through his nose, tries to keep his focus. He’s never fought so hard against pleasure in his life; he’s almost proud of himself for it. The heat is easy to ignore for a moment but then as Jerry’s gloved hand moves up and down and the friction builds into a fire in the pit of his belly, coiling up his spine everything in him is anxious to abandon the show and to turn all his focus on Jerry and pleasure.

He blinks hard, refocuses. Up on the screen the silent figures are moving – people milling about totally unaware of what they are a part of, the art that they have become – and Alec tries to watch them, to pay attention despite the jolts of need pulsing through him, the tightness in his balls. But Jerry knows him, knows just when to twist, when to press the pad of his thumb into the slit of Alec’s prick and how it ruins him, every time. 

Alec’s eyes flutter closed as Jerry’s other gloved hand comes up, gentle but firm, to cover his mouth, stifling the high noise he makes as he jerks and spills, all focus gone, the screen miles away. 

  
After Jerry tucks him away and strips his gloves off – they’re handy, for this sort of thing, fabric gloves – the _click click click_ is the only sound again and Alec slumps against Jerry’s shoulder, seeing the rest of the films through slitted, heavy eyes. 

"The last of her worries, indeed."

**Author's Note:**

> Laura Ormiston Chant was a social reformer of the temperance vein who hated the theatres, particularly the Empire Theatre in Leicester Square (which is now a horrendously expensive cinema). The show Alec is trying in vain to focus on is the Lumière Brothers' cinématographe which opened in London in 1896. And the title is from a Music Hall song called Anywhere Dark Will Do, which is, you guessed it, about fucking.


End file.
